


Only Solutions

by verysorrytobother



Series: Talk to Me AU [6]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (most of the time), Backupsmore University (Gravity Falls), College Student Ford Pines, College student Fiddleford McGucket, Filbrick Pines Is A Jerk, Filbrick Pines is not impressed, Ford Pines Needs a Hug, Graduation, Mentions of Sex, Non-Explicit Sex, Original Character(s), Stan Pines Angst, Stan Pines Has Low Self-Esteem, Stan Pines Needs A Hug, Stangst, Talk to Me AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28543140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verysorrytobother/pseuds/verysorrytobother
Summary: Filbrick and Caryn Pines head up to Backupsmore for Ford's graduation.The past hurts.
Relationships: Fiddleford H. McGucket & Ford Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket & Stan Pines, Filbrick Pines & Ford Pines, Filbrick Pines & Stan Pines, Filbrick Pines & Stan Pines & Ford Pines, Filbrick Pines/Caryn Romanoff Pines, Ford Pines & Caryn Romanoff Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Stan Pines & Caryn Romanoff Pines
Series: Talk to Me AU [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056503
Comments: 32
Kudos: 64





	Only Solutions

Filbrick Pines was not easily impressed, and he could count the exceptions on one (five-fingered) hand. 

The first was when he was just a schoolboy, too young and naive to realize that excitement was a currency to be sparingly spent. A classmate had snuck a frog into Mrs. Laycock’s desk, and everyone tensed on the edge of their seats when she went to open it. But Mrs. Laycock hadn’t even screamed—she’d merely scooped it up and tossed it out the window before continuing on with the lesson. 

The second was the night he met Caryn and drove her up to Lover’s Lane. He’d known full well that she was a compulsive liar, even then, and told her as much. But she’d still maintained that she’d never been with anybody else; that she had no experience whatsoever. 

“Coulda fooled me,” he’d murmured. 

“Shut yer yap,” she’d whispered breathlessly between kisses. 

The third was during his days as a construction worker, when Tim Drury—the fresh-faced eighteen-year-old that all of the guys liked to pick on—saved Gerald Peters’ life. Gerald had lost his footing while working on a crossbeam, and would have fallen to his death had Tim not grabbed his arm and pulled him to safety. Needless to say, everyone on the site respected Tim a lot more after that. 

The fourth was when he heard that Stanley had saved that McCorkle girl from a purse-snatcher. Stan had been making great progress in the ring, and had certainly come a long way from when Filbrick first signed him up. But that didn’t change his surprise when he learned that Stan had publicly defended the girl from a man at least a head taller than him, even knocking out multiple teeth, if reports were to be believed. 

Stan had been quiet at dinner, even as Caryn cooed over their “little hero.” It wasn’t until Filbrick gave him a nod and a gruff, “Good job,” that he brightened and began recounting his exploits. 

The fifth was the day he and Caryn were called into the principal’s office to discuss Stanford’s future. He’d known his son was a genius—anyone with half a brain could tell you that—but he’d never expected that Ford’s homemade perpetu-whatever could possibly make their family  _ millions.  _ With that kind of money, they could leave Glass Shard Beach. Settle down in a big house in the country. No more pawning off old watches and chains, no more “psychic” readings over telephone, no more scrimping and saving and stressing over bills. A life of comfort and luxury, of grandkids running around the yard. 

A better world. 

“I’m impressed,” he’d said, and he’d meant it. 

* * *

Now he sat in a stuffy auditorium, with Caryn endlessly fussing with her hair beside him. An hours-long ceremony, all to watch Stanford walk across a stage and take a piece of paper. It was like his high school graduation, only more pretentious. 

Ford had gotten his PhD three years ahead of schedule. Some small part of Filbrick wanted to acknowledge that this was an impressive feat—and he was proud, of  _ course  _ he was, not that he would ever say it out loud—but in the end, being proud and being impressed weren’t the same thing.

Because he  _ wasn’t  _ impressed. Stanford was a genius, he was hard-working, and if anyone could pull off going directly from undergrad to PhD, it was him; the situation made sense. To say he was impressed would be like saying he hadn’t expected Ford could do it in the first place. 

Caryn cried when they put the hood over his head—what that had to do with being a doctor, Filbrick had no idea—and once again, he was reminded of Stanford’s high school graduation. 

Although, Caryn had been crying for a different reason, then. 

The ceremony finally ended, and they joined the other attendees in the foyer to await the graduates. Filbrick scanned the crowd for his son, finally catching a glimpse of him behind a woman’s towering beehive hairdo. He started to nudge Caryn, but suddenly stopped, frowning.

Hadn’t Ford been wearing a graduation gown? And glasses?

The stranger across the room turned, and their eyes met. 

Filbrick froze. 

He blinked, and the man was gone.

“Oh, I see ‘im!” Caryn said, pulling him through the crowd towards Stanford. He was talking with a big-nosed stick of a man, and his eyes widened when he saw his parents. 

“M-Ma? Pa? How are you here? I didn’t—” Ford was cut off as Caryn wrapped him in a hug. 

“Aw, baby, we wouldn’t miss yer graduation for nothin’!” she said, pinching his cheeks. “Right, honey?” 

Filbrick didn’t respond. He was still scanning the throngs of people. 

“Fil?” Caryn frowned and nudged him. “You a’right, hon?” 

He snapped back to attention. “Hm?” 

Caryn and the beanpole were watching him with concerned expressions. And Stanford…

Filbrick hadn’t seen him in over three years, but somehow, Ford looked just as he remembered. Back straight and shoulders back, how he was taught to stand. Hands clasped behind his back. 

A certain wariness in his eyes that had been present ever since—

Filbrick abruptly cleared his throat and shook Ford’s hand with a nod. 

“Good job,” he said gruffly.

Ford stiffened, but after a moment he nodded back. 

“Um, this is my roommate, Fiddleford McGucket,” he said. “Fiddleford, these are my parents.” 

“It’s a right pleasure ta meet you!” the beanpole said in a thick southern accent, shaking their hands vigorously. “You’ve raised a fine boy here! Do ya got any embarrassin’ stories ‘bout his childhood? Pref’rably ones ya can explain in great detail while not takin’ yer eyes offa me?” 

Caryn happily complied, recounting the time Stanford built a kissing machine. Surprisingly, Ford didn’t protest—in fact, he seemed to be rather distracted, looking at something past Filbrick’s shoulder. His hands were a flurry of motion, almost as if he were making shadow puppets. Filbrick frowned. 

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, starting to turn around. 

“NOTHING!” Ford exclaimed, startling both of his parents. “Just, erm, saying hi to a friend. They’re hard of hearing, you see, so we can only communicate via sign language, and...at any rate, they’re gone now!”

There was a long moment of silence. 

“Ford, honey, I didn’t know ya knew sign language! That’s great! Fil, isn’t that great?” 

“Not unless it can make you money,” Filbrick grumbled, folding his arms. Stanford’s brow furrowed, but before he could say anything, Fiddleford abruptly cut in.

“Welp,” he said, “I should really get goin’. My own folks are ‘round here somewhere. It was nice meetin’ ya, Mr. and Mrs. Pines!” 

With that, the squirrely man was off. 

Ford stood there awkwardly for a minute, fiddling with the sleeve of his robe. “Thank you for coming,” he finally said. “It means a lot to me. I—I should probably head home as well. Lots of studying to be done, et cetera—” 

Caryn’s face fell. “But...but we gotta do somethin’ ta celebrate first, don’t we? We’ve barely even  _ seen  _ ya in four years!” 

At this, Ford looked guilty. “Ah, yes, sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. “I just...get wrapped up in my research. You know how it is.” 

“I know, honey, I know,” she sighed. “I just don’t wanna lose—don’t wanna lose my son. That’s all.” 

Ford rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip. 

Perhaps it was because they’d driven five hours to get there, and he wasn’t anxious to get back in the car anytime soon. 

Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to deal with Caryn’s crying all night. 

Perhaps it was because he was still shaken from the familiar stranger that he thought he’d seen. 

Whatever the reason, Filbrick suddenly found himself saying, “I’m starved. Any steakhouses ‘round here?” 

Ford turned to him, giving him an odd look. “There’s one in town,” he said slowly, after a brief pause. “But...it’s a bit pricey.” 

“Special occasion,” Filbrick said. “It’ll be our treat.” 

Caryn and Ford both gaped at him in disbelief. Filbrick pretended not to notice. 

“I’m gonna go start the car.” He turned and pushed through the crowd towards the exit, leaving his wife and son staring, dumbfounded, after him. 

As soon as he was outside, he slumped against the wall and ran a hand over his face. 

_ Pull it together, Filbrick.  _

He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back. He straightened his tie.

He wasn’t going to let some wishful thinking rattle him. He wasn’t going to give the seeds of doubt that had been festering since he’d thrown his son onto the street have their say. 

He was a Pines, dammit. Tough as a cinderblock. 

And if a tear happened to slip from behind his sunglasses, well, nobody needed to know. 

* * *

Mothgar raged across the television screen, laying waste to everything in its path. Stan smiled, warm nostalgia blooming in his chest—he and Ford used to love these old monster movies.

The bug-creature roared and knocked over another skyscraper. Civilians screamed, and smoke rose from the burning wreckage. 

_ A thin column of smoke rose from the machine, the mechanical arms slowing to a stop.  _

_ “Oh no, what did I do?!”  _

The smile slipped from Stan’s face and he quickly turned off the TV. 

He leaned back on the couch with a sigh. He wasn’t sure why the thought of their parents attending Ford’s graduation hadn’t occurred to him; though apparently, it hadn’t occurred to Ford, either. He’d been panicking just as much as Stan as he signed to him,  _ I’ll catch up with you later.  _ Well, now it was “later” and Ford was still missing, so Stan could only assume they’d gone out to dinner. A small part of him wished he could be celebrating with him and Fidds, like they’d planned.

But the other part’s heart started racing at the mere memory of catching his father’s eye through the crowd, remembering how he’d barely made it out of there in time.

If he’d known they were coming, he would’ve skipped the ceremony altogether. 

Well...no, he wouldn’t have. But he would’ve at least thrown a disguise together. 

The lock clicked and the door opened, and Stan shot to his feet. It was Ford, carrying a takeout bag from that fancy steakhouse downtown. 

“How’d it go?” Stan asked. “How’s Ma doin’? Did ya have a good time? You didn’t tell ‘em I’m stayin’ here, right? Sorry I bailed on our plans, but I just couldn’t—” 

Ford raised a hand to stop him. “Whoah, calm down, Stanley. None of this was your fault, so there’s no need to apologize.” He set the bag on the table and sighed. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I never guessed that they’d visit without me telling them the date of the ceremony.” 

Stan swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.” 

They both sat at the table. After a long moment of silence, Ford spoke again. 

“As for your other questions, no, I didn’t mention you. Ma is doing well, though I suspect she’s reverting back to her kleptomaniac tendencies—I caught her sneaking silverware into her purse. And…” Ford trailed off, frowning thoughtfully. “...I didn’t have a  _ good  _ time, but I didn’t have a  _ terrible  _ time, either. Pa was acting...strange.” He opened the takeout bag and set a sizable steak dinner in front of Stanley. “This is for you.” 

Stan snorted as he dug in. “What, no comments about your degree choice? No questions ‘bout when your first paycheck is comin’ in?” he said bitterly. 

“No, there were plenty of those,” Ford admitted. “But they seemed half-hearted, at best. And it was actually  _ his  _ idea to go to Backout.” 

Stan paused, swallowing a large spoonful of mashed potatoes.  _ Moses,  _ that was good. “Huh. Well, the man likes his steak. That much hasn’t changed.” 

“Yes, but...Stan,  _ he _ paid. In fact, he  _ offered  _ to pay.” 

Stan choked on his sirloin.

After a minute of coughing and Ford thumping him on the back, Stan’s hacking gradually subsided. He finally croaked out, “Alien?” 

Ford shook his head. “No, I checked. No inhuman tendencies or characteristics. Even his speech patterns are the same.” 

“Hm.” Stan pushed away his plate, even though his dinner was only half-eaten. “Well, thanks for the food. I’m, uh, I’m gonna go ta bed. Couch. Whatever.” He stood, ruffling Ford’s hair and earning himself an annoyed glare. “Congrats again, poindexter. Oops, I mean,  _ Doctor. _ ” 

Ford’s face softened and he chuckled. “You’re insufferable.” 

“Yeah, yeah, tell me somethin’ I don’t know.” 

Stan flopped on the couch and loudly pretended to snore, only stopping when Ford’s bedroom door clicked shut. Left alone with his thoughts once again, he let them wander. 

Pa never spent money on anything but necessities, and certainly not on his sons. This was the same man who refused to buy saltwater taffy, citing it as “too expensive” and “What am I, made of money?”

But now, he was suddenly splurging on steakhouses. On  _ Ford.  _

Yes, it was a special occasion. But Ford had been winning prizes and awards their whole lives, and not once had Filbrick rewarded those with anything more than an approving nod or a grumbled “Good job.” 

The only thing that made this time different was the fact that Stanley was out of the picture. 

Was it because of _ him _ , then? Was  _ he  _ the reason Ford never got the newest clothes or nicest notebooks growing up? The unplanned twin, the extra mouth to feed—Stan suddenly felt sick to his stomach. It all made sense now. He’d ruined his brother’s life long before that night in the high school gym. 

He wasn’t just a screw-up.

He was a  _ curse.  _ And he always had been. 

* * *

Ford awoke with a cry, heart pounding. 

He reached out to turn on the lamp, fumbling for his glasses. He ran a hand through his hair and took deep, slow breaths to calm himself.

He hadn’t had one of  _ those  _ dreams in a while.

It was just a nightmare. Ford  _ knew  _ it was just a nightmare. Any attempt to further reassure himself was unnecessary and pointless.

He hadn’t needed to check on Stanley since the boxing tournament.

But he knew he’d never be able to get back to sleep if he didn’t. So he threw back the covers and padded quietly down the hall, searching for Stan’s familiar shape through the darkness. 

Nothing. 

He frowned and, after a moment’s hesitation, flicked on the light. 

The couch was empty. 

A brief wave of panic coursed through him and he stepped into the living room...then breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Stan slumped over the kitchen table. 

His brother was snoring and even drooling a bit. Ford couldn’t help but smile at the scene. He grabbed a blanket from the couch and gently draped it over Stan’s shoulders. He was just turning to go back to bed when something on the table caught his eye, and he came closer to investigate. 

Multiple packets of paper were scattered beneath Stanley’s folded arms. Ford carefully pulled one free—and frowned. It was a job application for the little diner on Main Street. 

There was another for the convenience store, one for the coffee shop, and even one for the position of gas station attendant. All of the pages in each packet were filled out and ready to be handed in. Ford was confused—when had he had time to do all of this? Surely Stan knew that he and Fidds would have been more than happy to assist him with his job search. 

But...wait. Fidds was leaving soon, for that specialized engineering program in California. And Ford...well, Ford wasn’t going to be staying in this tiny college town, that was for sure. He was positive that he’d mentioned as much to Stan. 

So why did it look like Stan was preparing to stay behind? 

Ford slowly set the papers down and turned off the light. He retreated back to his room, but he didn’t get back in bed. Instead, he stared at a map of the United States he had pinned to a corkboard on his wall. It was filled with red push pins, and a large number of them were clustered around a certain town in Oregon. 

He still needed to wait to see if his grant was approved, and he hadn’t wanted to bring up his potential plans to Stanley until he was absolutely  _ certain _ that it was a realistic possibility. 

But it seemed that Stan wouldn’t be interested, after all. He was moving on, setting up a life for himself.

Ford couldn’t possibly ask him to abandon that. 

He climbed into bed and clicked off the lamp. 


End file.
